The Hospital in Costa Rica
by IndifferentChild
Summary: A direct follow up to the incident on Isla Nublar. The plot follows Alan Grant, Ellie Sattler, Ian Malcolm, John Hammond, and Lex and Tim Murphy as they recover from their injuries after the accident, challenges they face and their eventual return to the United States.
1. Alan I

The helicopter had taken the survivors directly to San Jose for medical treatment. Alan's stomach churned as he watched the helicopter land precariously on top of the many-storied hospital. The blades of the aircraft landed harshly on the asphalt and a team of presumably informed doctors, nurses, and portable stretchers awaited them.

Landing in the darkness of the night, Lex and Tim sat, stunned at the idea of returning to the world of logic and safety. He observe the children, eyes glazed over and not fully looking at anything in particular and mouths slightly open in awkward gapes. They had returned to earth. "Alright. Come on Lex, Tim. It's okay. Let's go." The pilot swung open the door of the helicopter and Alan hopped the short distance to the ground.

The heat of Costa Rica was the same, and his heart began beating furiously in the humidity. With Lex hanging onto his arm and Tim slung over his shoulder like a corpse, he moved as quickly as he could towards the team of medical staff. Before he could get a word out, the children were quickly pulled from him. It made him angry. They were doctors, and he didn't doubt the expanse of their knowledge, but the last thirty-six hours had been extremely taxing and had made him extremely weary of Lex and Tim's wellbeings. He recognized these feelings for what they were immediately and turned back to Ellie and Malcolm emerging from the belly of the aircraft.

How he wanted to pull her into an embrace right now, tell her it was over, lie with her on some hospital gurney forever with his head buried in her curls. But the Ellie he had found wandering, bloody in the jungles on Isla Nublar seemed different. He watched her become Malcolm's crutch as they hobbled across the landing pad to another stretcher. He knew she was still Ellie.

Hammond emerged last from the helicopter, cane in hand. He watched as the old man struggled to disembark the helicopter, shooing away any attendant who tried to help him. Alan gritted his teeth. He hadn't had time to be angry since the accident, but as he watched the old man shuffle across the roof after his grandchildren, feelings of hatred had found safe harbor within him.

Hammond was uninjured, unphased, had seen nothing of the power his creations possessed, had not seen what they were able to do to human beings. To him, they had always been the wretched, weak hatchlings he so punctually observed entering the world. It wasn't fair. What angered him the most was the way Hammond had hesitated upon their departure – as if he was actually lamenting his lost creatures. Alan's hand balled into a fist as he followed Hammond down the stairs and into the thankfully air-conditioned hospital.

Malcolm was wheeled directly into surgery for the compound fracture that extended from his tibia up to his knee. The rest of the survivors were stripped of their mud and blood crusted clothing and whisked in wheelchairs to various parts of the hospital. Alan hadn't even noticed the mask of cuts and scrapes the covered his face, but the sharp sting and smell of antiseptic brought tears to his eyes and he blinked furiously for most of the morning.

The rest of the day saw the children undergo complete check-ups, Hammond hovering over them. All the while Alan was forced to sit in a wheelchair with an I.V in his wrist. Ellie had also been admitted for dehydration as well. He was thankful that they were permitted to sit together as their wounds were dressed and their conditions communicated to them through translators. Whenever they had a brief moment, he would squeeze her hand in a gesture of reassurance. She would smile at him and squeeze him back. It was in those moments that the feisty Ellie showed herself – she wasn't gone. The hustle and bustle of the hospital had the atmosphere of a peaceful oasis compared to the chaos of the island, and the paleontologist and paleobotanist dozed on each other's shoulders.

Alan felt in that moment, when their time was at hand in sixty years, they would return to this moment.

When they awoke, Hammond stood just across from them, keeping cool with a handheld battery fan. Alan's first thoughts were of the kids.

"Tim, Lex. Are they okay?" He sat up too quickly and his head began swimming. Hammond tottered over to the two, "They're fine fine yes just fine." He explained in his usual soft voice, waving a reassuring hand. "The doctor says Tim's showing signs all typical of the average lightening strike victim. But since it's what they call an 'alternating current' strike, nerve damage is minimal but he's got some nasty burns on his hands poor dear." The old man stroked his white beard in concern. "Lex is running a small fever, but they suspect it's from the dehydration. Should be cleared up in a few days. Dr. Malcolm should be getting out of surgery soon."

Alan released a breath he didn't realize he had been holding. He felt Ellie on his shoulder again and settled his head back down on top of hers. Not a moment later a pair of nurses chattering frantically in Spanish descended upon the two doctors and wheeled them to a double room. Only a stained curtain separated the two beds, but Alan had no intention of letting Ellie leave his sight.

To lie on a soft mattress was almost an alien feeling to Alan. The feeling of his head sinking into the pillow was indescribable. His eyelids were heavy and sinking. Ellie had already fallen asleep as Alan's vision blurred. It was a fight to allow himself to submit to sleep, but eventually it took him.


	2. Ian I

The oblong yellow orbits spun faster and faster in front of him. The Lorenz attractor model– he saw the butterfly every time. With a single flap of the most delicate wings known to man, a tornado appeared in Texas or a typhoon appear over Australia's north coast. A chaotic solution; deterministic; non-linear; space.

The yellow began to bleed from his vision and strong white lights overwhelmed his sight. People pulling open his eyelids, speaking a language that was not his own. As far as he knew, his body was gone. Unfeeling. Yet there it was, clammy and splayed out beneath him. His left leg was hidden from view by towels, tubes, machines and other people. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth and he couldn't recall at that moment how to speak, how to ask for help.

Ian remembered the rain, buckets and buckets of rain mixing with blood. He jerked as he remembered the injury, the moment he had seen the white crest of the bone peak from the tip of his knee and the blood spilling from his leg. A plastic mask was promptly held to his face, and he saw his breath condense into moisture against it. _Yellow oblongs._ He thought as he eyes rolled backwards.

The next time he awoke, he found himself in an excessively cushioned bed with his leg in a thick cast. At least it was still there. The plump nurse in the room with him was adjusting the machines off to his left. Groggily, he smiled at her, eyes bulging like he was young again. She had a very attractive face. She returned his lazy smile before turning away to her notes.

As the effects of the anesthetic wore off, Ian remembered more and more of the seemingly ordinary circumstances that had gotten him here. A meeting over lunch with a correspondent of Hammond's, which escalated quickly to him agreeing to board a helicopter to Costa Rica, the innocent all-terrain tour, the unbelievable biological abnormalities, and the unimaginable released force which brought him here.

"Ian Malcolm?" A thickly accented voice addressed him. "Ian Malcolm?"

He nodded slowly.

"You've been injured. You're in San Jose, Costa Rica. You're in a hospital. Do you understand?"

He nodded again.

"My name is Doctor Rojas. You've experienced a Bumper fracture to your left leg. We've realigned the knee and inserted plating to the tibia. Do you understand?"

Ian remained still, digesting the information. Remembering how it happened. He was running in the moments before the impact, reptilian goliath in pursuit. He remembered the feeling of the beast's flesh against his own as it threw him into the thatched structure and the uncertainty of whether or not it had torn his leg from his torso. The pain had been so great it seemed plausible. He remained still under rushes, listening to Gennaro's helpless screams, paralyzed by both pain and fear until the gargantuan hunter moved on.

The blood; the bone. He had removed his belt and tightened until the feeling in his leg dulled. He forced the buckle through the leather until it formed a new notch with which to secure itself. He then permitted himself to rest. Ellie and Muldoon had found him then, and not long after the Rex was back. The journey to the safety of the bunker and the experiences within it seemed almost dreamlike – he had Dr. Sattler's questionably prepared morphine to thank for that he supposed.

"Mr. Malcolm? Ian?"

"I understand." He croaked and swallowed. He had so many questions to ask. "My … kids … do they know?"

"We've contacted Mrs. Malcolm in Santa Fe, yes."

_Which one? _He thought sardonically. Ian would have rolled his eyes, but they ached enough as it was. "And the others in my party … are alright?"

"They're responding well yes." Dr. Rojas' eyes were obscured by the glare reflecting off of his round glasses. His thick mustache gave him the air of a particular urban marsupial Ian was well used to shooing away from his garbage bins. "You'll be flown to Los Angeles in a few days once your clear of any fever or infection." Ian nodded stiffly and Rojas departed the room.

The nurse returned promptly with her clipboard. "Eees there anything I can geeet you sir?"

Malcolm managed a snort, "Yeah, a legal team."


	3. Ellie I

More than once in the night, Ellie had left her bed for Alan's. Despite being not even an arm's length away, she wanted to be with him, feel him breathing, alive. She was restless all through the night, her skin and hair sticky with sweat. Add to that Alan's own body heat and the room was a sauna. She didn't care, and Alan didn't seem to notice. A remarkable trait of his was being able to sleep through the strangest of situations.

Ellie had afforded a moment or two of rest in the safety of the bunker, but had Alan slept at all these past two days? He'd been with the kids the entire time – and the idea alone would have been enough to make Ellie laugh had the situation been different. There hadn't been a day where she and Alan would go out to admire local flora that he would harshly reprimand a child for wandering absently through a tended garden. The thought of Alan in between two panicked children seemed impossible, laughable. But she was too tired, to frightened to laugh.

Alan's soft snoring kept her from sleep, but she cherished it. Sharing a mobile home in Montana had presented a challenge to the couple, and not just spatially. The number of nights Alan's snores had kept her awake she could not count on her fingers and toes. There was nowhere to go but the desert, not even another couch to sleep on. She would just roll him over or poke him with her finger until he stopped.

Not tonight. She wanted to hear every sound he made.

Eventually, just as the first morning light crept through the small window, Ellie dozed. She dreamed of the island, and of following Muldoon across the compound. She relived the moment of fear when he told her to run. Then he was gone and she was running. The shed never got closer. The screams of the monsters in the underbrush resonated all around her. She could no longer run and was reduced to a crawl – through mud that seemed to keep her pinned to the jungle floor. Leaves stuck to her, overwhelmed her, until they enveloped her completely. Then she was falling into darkness. With a sharp jolt she was in the maintenance shed again. Malcolm and Hammond's voices crackled incoherently on the radio as she stumbled blindly through the darkness, knowing it was in here with her. She knew it was there – and it knew too. The deafening screech of the raptor nauseated her and in an instant it was upon. She fell to the floor; the force of the animal landing on her back caused her to cry out a stream of profanities. She felt the hot breath of the hunter on her neck, and she knew what came next.

Ellie woke with a start as Alan wrapped his arms around her, breathing on the back of her neck. The sheets were a sweaty tangle amassed around her legs and she shivered and sobbed unabashedly.

"Ellie?" Alan asked, his voice still full of sleep. "What's the matter?"

Ellie felt as if she might be sick, and wriggled out of Alan's embrace to the bathroom. Shutting the door behind her, she sank to the ground in a stinking, sweaty mess. Her sobs got stuck in her throat and she found herself gasping to get a breath in. Running her fingers through her tangled hair seemed to calm her, but her insides were still a mess. She ended up retching into the toilet.

A soft knock at the door made Ellie wail.

"Ellie. Ellie I'm coming in." Alan.

At first she recoiled, remembering the dream, remembering the hunter. She must have looked pathetic, a wailing tangle of limbs curled up in front of the toilet. She didn't hear Alan come in, but she felt him slide down beside her and shift her onto his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck and gradually found herself again, listening to the steady thump of Alan's heart.

Why had she been so afraid? He was still Alan. Her Alan Grant.

By the time they were served breakfast, Ellie sat in her own bed.


	4. Ian II

By morning, Ian had regained most of his senses – which he felt deserved some celebrating. A drink sounded great, and somebody to drink it with sounded just as enticing. He wondered if he would even receive any visitors. The island group members were not exactly good friends of his – they were merely all caught in the same unfortunate system that led to their present circumstances. His thoughts did wander to Dr. Sattler and Hammond. It was difficult to discern facts from morphine-induced delusions, and he couldn't quite remember if the testy game warden had made the escape with them. He was therefore eager to speak with Alan Grant, or Dr. Sattler. He definitely had a mind to speak with Hammond, and was already selecting choice words to use with him.

Rojas informed him of his improving condition – the fact that he had been able to keep down food meant no infection had settled itself into the wound. His left leg was a white tree trunk, with the cast extending all the way up to his waist. By mid-morning Ian became restless, feeling the need to move. He'd discovered at a very young age that he needed to be moving for his mind to be at its most productive. His hands needed to be busy. By the time the nurse collected his breakfast tray, the leftovers had been constructed into Ian's best rendition of a Roman aqueduct.

No sooner after his construction was removed did Grant and Sattler arrive. They each feigned smiles and shook hands upon their reunion. The story of the rex was eventually regaled again.

"I guess she uh … found me a little more _attractive_ than Grant." He chuckled, running his hand along the cast. "I don't blame her. Am I right Dr. Sattler?" She chuckled to herself, but her arms remained crossed. "Kids okay?" He asked.

"Yeah." Grant nodded, his face betraying signs of frustration and stress.

"The warden uh … limey guy in the shorts? Safari hat and shotgun?"

"Robert Muldoon." Dr. Sattler wasted no time in correcting him. She shook her head.

"That's … that's some shit … right there." He murmured, not meeting their eyes.

"You contact your family yet?" Grant asked.

"Yeah …" Ian sighed and it morphed into a weak laugh, "Rojas called one of 'em at least."

"How's your leg?" Ellie asked.

"Oh god … what leg?" He quipped. He couldn't even feel the damned thing. "Shouldn't be too bad though. I've woken up in stranger places with stranger injuries. This one's pretty high up on the list though …"

"We'll let you get some rest." Grant declared, taking Ellie's hand.

"Hey let's get a drink later!" Ian called after them. His suggestion was met with insincere laughter, and Ian sensed Grant wasn't too fond of him.

Finding something else to occupy his never satisfied hands proved extremely challenging. All his implements had been taken from him and he was left twiddling his thumbs. A TV was eventually wheeled in for his 'enjoyment' but the nurses had neglected to realize the remote had no batteries inside. Thus, Malcolm was stuck with "Channel 13 telanovellas" plus all the very latest in Costa Rican weather and Spanish celebrity gossip.

The fidgeting grew worse and Ian became sure he would die here, if not of a gangrenous infection but of insanity.

Without warning, his door opened.

Hammond.

"From one hell … to another." Ian mumbled.

"Ian, Ian my dear Ian." The old man limped to his bedside, full of zeal as always. "You look good. Much, much better. Well rested are we?"

"Uh … yeah, yeah thanks a lot John." Ian said bitterly. "I'll uh … sleep much better knowing you'll uh … be paying off damages for the rest of your – your _life." _He said. "And John, speaking of which, clock's winding down on that unless you can conjure up some … some new biological terror that extends human life."

Hammond just smiled and waved his hand back and forth as a parent would to a child. "Now, now Ian, don't work yourself into a fit. You'll be compensated fully of course as promised – "

"John, this isn't just about … compensation this is now a … a … "

"A bloody mess yes, yes I'm aware. The authorities should have a lot of fun with this old man." He chuckled and rested both hands on the amber head of his walking stick.

"This isn't just a simple … uh lawsuit we're dealing with here John. There's been deaths – and you know who those families are going to turn on don't you?"

"Poor Robert. Had a wife and wee girl you know."

"John …"

"Yes, yes, luckily I've got a top of line team – penned me up a wee clause on the contract that prevents most lawsuits in case of accidental injury."

"Accidental injury?!" Ian cried incredulously. Had it not been for the enourmous cocoon wrapped around his leg he would have gotten up and shaken John by the shoulders. "Is that what you would call Gennaro being … being torn apart by one of your cash cows? Or … or … or Robert Muldoon being disemboweled in some god forsaken jungle? Accidental injury John?"

The heart monitor began beeping incessantly.

"Tragic accidents the lot of them. I don't deny it, and I take full responsibility." The old man's face had whitened. "Of course their families will be given generous sums."

"Yeah, yeah that's _great." _He replied sarcastically, "I'm sure uh … Mrs. Muldoon will be happy that she can finally buy that yacht she's always wanted. And _of course _the important part it that you can't be touched. Isn't that right John?" He said poisonously.

Hammond's innocent smile returned to his face. "There it is." A silence fell on the room for a little while before Hammond spoke again, placing an unscathed arm on Ian's. "It's bad right now Ian. It'll improve. It'll get better I promise. And a year or two down the road, we can put this behind us. A memory."

Ian had no more words for Hammond, only an expression of disbelief. "You'll understand one day John." He said icily.

The old man placed himself at the center of the earth, with everything else revolving outwards around him. A few years down the road and Hammond would be back on Isla Nublar, picking up the pieces of his model and painstakingly assembling them with superglue. That's all he was, was a child – a child who couldn't seem to recognize a bad idea when it held a gun to his head. But Ian just couldn't figure out what was driving him – it certainly couldn't be money, the billionaire at lots of that.

Long after Hammond had left, Malcolm found himself still sitting upon the question.


	5. Alan II

Visiting Ian Malcolm hadn't made Alan feel much better – if anything he felt slightly sickened by the man's seemingly endless supply of what he called 'wit.' He sat in a reclining chair, enjoying the quiet solitude of the double room for a while. His mind kept returning to Ellie and the jungle. The moment his eyes met the eyes of the woman crouched just below the crest of the hill, he had felt this palpable shift in something. The quiet of the room had allowed him for the first time to reflect upon it.

Alan had discreetly informed the nearest English speaking staff member of Ellie's hysteria the previous night, and they asked her to drop in to the hospital's psychiatric ward for a 'chat.' He had severe doubts as to the efficiency and complacency of the mental health staff in San Jose, but it was all they had at the moment. The early morning hours had seen Ellie curl into a tight ball in his lap, seemingly disconnected from all he had been saying to her.

He hadn't received a word from anyone as to when they would be flow back to the United States. Alan thoughts then moved to the _maisaurus _specimen sitting, collecting dust on their desk back in Montana. He and Ellie had spent their last few evenings piecing together the upper spinal column, where the spinal chord entered the skull. They were like students learning how to glue for the first time. He wondered if there would be any more nights like those.

The sound of sneakers scuffing the hallways pulled him away from these thoughts. He rose from the chair and stuck his head through the crack of the door to observe an energetic Tim Murphy sprinting full speed down the wing, Lex in pursuit. "Alan!" She yelped in excitement, making Alan the target of her chase. She nearly took the feet out from under him as she locked her arms around his torso in a fierce hug. "We were going to see Dr. Malcolm." She explained, voice muffled in his chest. _Malcolm?_

"Dr. Grant!" Tim's voice echoed. The boy had spun on his heel when he realized Lex was no longer interested in the chase. Soon Tim had his arms around Alan's waist, effectively trapping him in the doorframe. He placed a hand on Tim's hair, which had since been washed and trimmed. Lex had objected at the haircut, and as such still possessed her bright, brushed hair – which had thankfully also been washed.

"Tim – are you feeling better? Lex?"

A chorus of "much better" and "I hate it here" and "I hope we can go home soon" more or less answered his question.

"Oh … well that's good." Alan managed to say amongst a new argument that had broken out between the kids.

"Lex darling!" Hammond's voice rang from up the hall. "The nurse says she needs to check the stitches again, so don't go popping them out dear." He beckoned the children with a wave of his hand. "Ah, I see you've found Dr. Grant." He gave Alan that smile that was all too familiar – and yet it was two dimensional, something else was on the other side of it.

The girl gave a dramatic groan.

"No no … come on Lex. Let's go." Alan said sternly, ushering the kids back up the hallway from whence they had came.

The kids were, unsurprisingly, a floor down from Alan and Ellie in pediatrics. The walls of the wing were adorned with unsettling colours and shapes that seemed to Alan would give a child some sort of sensory overload. It was already taking a toll on his eyesight to be sure.

Lex and Tim shared a double room that was decorated just as terrifyingly. While Lex sat impatiently as the nurse poked and prodded the stitches in her head, Tim sat on his own cot, knees drawn up to his chin and his arms wrapped around them. He had the same look on him as when they first landed at the hospital; unfocused eyes. His right hand was trembling as well, but that could have been from the electrical shock.

Observing the children and all of their injuries was heartbreaking. Bandages concealed Tim's left ear and his fingers stuck awkwardly out of thick lumps of gauze affixed to his hands. Lex's face was swollen and the cut on her forehead so deep it required stitching. Those wounds would heal, Alan knew, but that's not what concerned him.

In addition, the room was a proper mess. Alan couldn't abide with untidiness in his own lodgings, so he properly folded away loose articles of clothing and books that had just been deposited on the floor. In was in his eagerness for cleanliness that he spotted a pile of books sitting innocently under Tim's bed. He pulled them out.

_Big Lizards, The Littlest Stegosaurus, Pre-historic Maneaters_ – dinosaur books. He glanced up at Tim. "Tim, feel like reading anything?" The boy shook his head. Alan sighed. The boy gestured for Alan to come closer, he obliged and bent down to hear Tim whisper in his ear – "The only English books they have are about …"He pulled away, seemingly unable to pass the word off his lips. His eyes betrayed the same fear he had seen as when Alan had plucked him from the tree.

"Oh."

"Dr. Grant?" Tim beckoned him closer again.

"I don't like _them_ … anymore."

All Alan could do was nod. He wasn't even sure he liked them anymore either.

"Grant?" Hammond stood in the doorframe, stone-faced. "A word." Alan begrudgingly obliged the old man, leaving Tim tucked up in his own knees.

"Timmy let's go see Dr. Malcolm now." Lex pulled Tim from the bed, pushed past Alan with surprising force and took off down the hall towards the elevators again. Alan followed, keeping a slower stride with Hammond.

"Where's Dr. Sattler today?" Hammond asked cheerfully.

"She's not feeling well, so they're … talking to her a little bit."

"Ah." Hammond nodded, "I expect the little ones should get a talking to as well. Their minds just … so fragile at that age Grant.

How had he known? Alan's brown furrowed angrily as they stepped into the elevator. The kids took off down the hallway as soon as the metal doors opened again, but Alan stayed with Hammond.

"Los Angeles immigration is giving me a wee bit of trouble it turns out." Hammond began to explain. "Seems they think we're trying to smuggle in some foreign material or are otherwise contaminated." He chuckled, "You can't blame them really – they probably don't believe what they've been told concerning our little situation, so there may be a wee bit of delay in returning to –"

Alan cut him off, placing a hand on his shoulder and pushing him to the wall. "What. WHAT is it now? What have you managed to befoul this time with your –"

"Now it won't be more than a few days Dr. Grant, just to clear up the confusion and the paperwork – surely you must know how these things are." Hammond gently removed himself from Alan's grasp and continued hobbling down the hallway.

"Alan!" Lex stuck her head out of Malcolm's door. Reluctantly he put on a smile and moved to her.

Upon his arrival, the children were thoroughly smothering Malcolm, who oddly didn't seem to mind.

"All right … magic tricks! You kids know this one?" Malcolm pulled two elastic bands from his bedside and began folding them intricately between his fingers. Tim and Lex watched intently, at times seeming to forget to blink their eyes. It was all Alan could do to not snort at Malcolm's child-rearing techniques. However if Malcolm could conjure a way out of here and into the United States, Alan was prepared to fully subscribe to the mathematical nonsense that was chaos theory. Lex, unsurprisingly, had already taken a liking the mathematician's hypothetical discourse.

Alan turned to leave, muttering in Hammond's ear. "Maybe you should be having a talk with someone too." If not a psychiatrist than certainly some more lawyers.

Alan found Ellie perched atop her bed, cross-legged and reading a book. He pulled a wheeled chair over to sit by her side. He placed a hand on her leg. "What are you reading?" She seemed to sigh exasperatedly before replying, "The Alchemist." Alan had never heard of it.

"Oh." A pause. "Everything go alright today?"

Ellie shut the book and nodded, her eyes watering. "It's uh …" Her voice trembled and she heaved a stammered sigh. "They um …" He moved to sit upon the bed with her. "They want to see me again tomorrow." She finally said.

Alan understood. They lay in each other's arms for a while before Ellie had to get up and be sick again. She eventually fell asleep, her head almost in the toilet itself. Gingerly, Alan scooped her up and put her to bed.

He observed her ragged breathing and tossing for most of the night. She never went an hour without seizing into some sort of fit. He had been warned not to try and wake her during these episodes – something about "deepening the trauma." He felt powerless to do anything, and began wishing she could just squeeze him tightly, releasing all of her pain into him. He would bear it for her, or at least some of it.

He wished that more than anything.


	6. Ellie II

The head psychiatric doctor, Ramirez, at the hospital appeared to Ellie to be no more than a graduate student. However, the girl's English was near perfect, which made conversing with her a little easier - easy in the loosest sense of the word. It had been no easy task convincing the doctor that her nightmares and occasional auditory hallucinations had been triggered by biological terrors sixty-five million years extinct.

Her nightmares were always in the jungle with Muldoon, or by herself in the maintenance shed. When she was awake, the dreams would linger in the form of sudden sounds. A door slamming, the sound of shotgun fire, glass breaking, the cry of the velociraptor, the roar of the tyrannosaurus rex; each manifested itself hourly no matter what she was doing.

Additionally, she felt wracked with guilt. Muldoon had told her to run, and she ran. Not once had she considered what he had been doing – providing a diversion for her. She couldn't shake her last sight of him, crouched with his gun to his shoulder and slowly parting the leaves before him. Then she had run.

"It's … almost all the time." Ellie had tried to explain. "During the day it's sounds … at night it's the dreams." Her eyes were sunken, having not fully slept since before she departed for Isla Nublar. "And it's non-stop. Even when I focus on something else, the thoughts are … intrusive." She said.

Ramirez seemed to scribble down quite literally _everything _Ellie said, rarely even glancing up to look at her. "Ellie do you know how to meditate?"

Ellie's brow furrowed and she put her face in her hands. "No." She blurted, thoroughly frustrated. Ramirez continued – "It's focusing your mind on blankness. Nothingness."

"I know what it is." She replied. The thought of thinking of nothing – leaving herself open to further intrusion – was enough to bring her heart into her throat.

"There is also medication of course, which we'll write a prescription for, but if you'd feel more comfortable it's also possible to do family therapy." Ramirez read off of her notebook. "Alan might like to know what you're going through – wouldn't you like him to understand?"

Alan.

Ellie had purposely neglected to speak of her new feelings about Alan. It was partially denial – she refused to acknowledge that the man she had grown to love over the past three years was suddenly frightening and nauseating her. Being around him was … stressful. Every time she saw him, she was reminded of the constant peril. She tried to dwell on how she had felt when she found him walking alone just outside the compound. How she had willed herself to run to him. His embrace had never felt so good. But it became harder and harder to go back to that feeling.

The worst part of it was– it wasn't his fault. She knew all too well Alan's feelings for her, and how sensitive a man he really was. She acknowledged that her own feelings for him were still strong, but the mental strain that was placed on her was becoming heavier and heavier. She began wondering if it was really … worth the trouble.

"Yes."

Ramirez' eyes brightened. "Let's set it up then. Ask him if he'd be okay with that – I'm sure he has some troubles to overcome as well. You can even continue once you're back in Washington."

Ellie left the room feeling disconnected and disassociated. She had no desires, no needs – except the need for a clear mind. She was a ghost walking through the hospital; the unseen seer. She eventually found her way to the elevator, stabbing the button for her floor. The elevator doors closed.

_A slamming door._

Ellie jumped. For a moment she could have sworn the lights flickered. She grabbed the rail in the elevator car for support.

_A gunshot. The wail of a raptor._

The screech echoed in her right ear as it had when the raptor had broken through the piping, inches from her head in the maintenance shed. Ellie shouted, covered her ears and closed her eyes. Her hands were clamped down over her ears with such force that she thought she might alter the shape of her skull. She didn't catch a breath, and within a moment she had the sensation of drowning.

The elevator rang, signaling the arrival to her floor. The doors opened and she opened her eyes. Sixth floor. She knew where she was. Ellie couldn't get off the elevator fast enough. She darted through the halls towards her room.

Once inside, she needed a wall. If she pressed herself into a corner she could see the entire room. She planted herself just underneath the window; the morning light entered the window just over her head. The feeling of sunlight made her feel a little better.

About a half an hour later, Alan returned. "Ellie?" He sat down with her under the window. "Want to get some lunch?" Lunch did sound great; Ellie hadn't realized how hungry she had been until Alan brought it up.

"Sure." She whispered.

Alan stood, offering his hands to her.

"Alan?" She found herself asking. "Do you …" _No. She couldn't do that. Not to him. _She sighed. "I'm … not hungry yet. I think I'll just, sit here for a while."

"Okay. Well ... I'll come back in a bit okay?"

"Okay." Alan stripped the blanket from the bed and gave it to her. "I love you." She found herself telling him.

"Love you too." He replied, kissing her gently on the head and then departing for the cafeteria.

She did. She did love him. She knew she did.


	7. Ian III

When he voiced his dissatisfaction concerning mobility and restlessness, Dr. Rojas had permitted Ian use of a wheelchair – so long as he kept his left leg elevated and straight. It made him look a little like a battering ram, but the perpetual movements of his arms spinning the wheels had relaxed him. Being able to roll from one place to another unassisted was incredibly liberating. Nevertheless, a persistent bitter attitude had leached to him, and it showed.

With the immigration difficulties and Tim's recurring heart murmurs, the children were still hospitalized and visited him often – Tim asking after more magic tricks, and Lex refreshingly asking for Ian's opinions on his non-linear systems. Their visits served to lighten his mood and bring a little bit of joy to him in the way his own kids did. Additionally, Ian could never refuse to flap his own mouth off about applied mathematics.

The kids took turns pushing him down the hallway, much to the chagrin of the staff, they stared at him while he ate his meals, and it wouldn't have shocked Ian if he found out they watched him while he slept. _Strange attractions_, he had laughed to himself in private.

Ian liked talking to them, and they seemed to like talking to him. The conversation would always turn into the park – despite Ian's best efforts to steer it elsewhere. Lex did most of the talking, and Tim sat motionless beside her most of the time, legs crossed and head resting in his hands almost conveying boredom.

Another favourite spot the kids would push him back and forth from was the rehabilitation gymnasium. It was more of an indoor playground for preschoolers it seemed to Ian. They would coax him to try his hand at the parallel bars, to that Ian vehemently declined. Trying not to move his club leg in his sleep was pain enough, and the thought of willingly _bending_ and putting weight on it made his stomach do backflips.

Not surprisingly, the presses had also made their arrival at the hospital as well, but were kept barred from entering. From his window, Ian could survey the news trucks bearing logos from all around the world, and the tiny photographers in the parking lot snapping photos of the hospital. Personally, Ian wouldn't have minded a camera to speak to. Having a global audience would have given him the chance to expose Hammond's offenses that he had so nicely looked after.

It had only been a day since receiving the precious wheeled chair, and already Malcolm was the ever-present pest in the hospital. People generally adjusted their paths when they saw him obstinately wheeling down the hallway. It was on one of these wheel-abouts that Dr. Rojas caught up with him.

"Hello Ian."

"What's up doc?"

"Well … the staff is most happy to offer our _accommodations _to you and your … fellows while your papers are cleared but …"

Ian stopped wheeling and met Rojas' eyes. His own stare matched Rojas' in tenacity.

"We er … well we just don't want to … _disturb_ the other patients." He added quickly.

Ian tipped backwards on his wheelchair, causing Rojas to start and emit a small concerned sound a bird would most likely make. And with that Ian rolled away.

"Oh and Mrs. Malcolm has arrived."

The wheels of the chair practically screeched to a halt. He swiveled to face Rojas.

"Excuse me?"

"Mrs. Malcolm … is … waiting for you … by your room."

"Uh, which one?"

Rojas could do nothing but grasp for words that weren't there, moving his arms as if he were physically trying to summon them.

"Nevermind. God knows I need more surprises." Ian murmured. He fixed his course towards his lodgings.

Ian had resigned himself to the fact that he would be taking some braising from whomever awaited him in his room – a lecture, a flick on the head, a criticism of his intellectual abilities, the usual abuse that he had so often made a joke of to the faces of his past "other halves." It was his never serious attitude that had made his relationships ripe for the splitting.

Debarking the elevator, Ian wasted no time in wheeling to his room. From down the hall, he could see there the definite shape of a person with the curves of a female sitting hunched over some paper. As he drew closer and closer, her identity got further and further from him. She was nobody he knew.

"Excuse me." He announced his presence before she could get a look at him approaching like the cripple he had become.

The woman looked up, giving him a face full of freckles and a head full of red hair.

_Strange attractions indeed. _


	8. Alan III

Leaving the hospital to get a decent lunch had become somewhat of an impossibility owing to the growing presence of the worldwide news stations amassing just outside the doors. Alan was therefore confined to dine in the cafeteria, forced to feed on egg salad and bland spaghetti. It was all the more lonesome without Ellie around, she only ever left the room to see the doctors, while Alan couldn't stand being cooped up in there a minute longer.

"Ah Dr. Grant. Ellie said you were here." Hammond helped himself unbidden to the chair opposite to Alan, taking a minute to settle his walking stick beside him. "Your papers are ready – Ellie and yours." He stated, looking pleased with himself and expectant of praise. Alan let out a breath that almost resembled a laugh. _Finally._ He stood up, suddenly disinterested in his cold spaghetti.

"Oh, Grant." Hammond stopped him, taking another minute to stand up himself. "I – I do hope we can part on a light note. You'll be pleased to know that the _check_ on your dig just cleared." This time Alan did laugh.

"That's the first thing you've invested in that could yield some _promising_ results … am I right?" Alan said.

Hammond just smiled and held out his hand; his soapy, clean hand that was just a fraction of the body that had been unfairly spared. Nevertheless, Alan shook it with a grain of salt.

"You're wrong." Hammond said, and for the first time, Alan could hear what sounded like guilt in the old man's tone. Alan just nodded, not fully understanding Hammond's meaning. Not wanting to suffer another minute more in the presence of the old billionaire, Alan left.

"Grandpa. Lex and Dr. Malcolm won't stop talking about math." Tim's voice whined from the cafeteria just as Alan exited.

"To each our own Tim." He heard Hammond reply. Alan kept walking, admittedly with much difficulty.

The news had seemed to put Ellie in better spirits. She was no longer sitting beneath the window as he had found her a little while ago, but hastily packing up her belongings. As soon as she saw Alan, she smiled and pulled him into a fierce hug. It felt awkward, and a little forced, but Alan had felt better in that moment than he had in the 5 days they had been stuck here.

"Finally." She said into his ear before turning back to her packing. "I was going crazy sitting around here."

_I know. _Alan wanted to say. He wanted to know more, and then maybe he could understand.

"Ellie … I know you're having some … trouble. It's understandable, you've gone through a lot right? We both have. I just want to know … what I can do to help."

Ellie looked at him icily, and Alan fidgeted under her gaze. "I just … want to help." He said, raising his hands defensively.

Alan looked at his own belongings – there wasn't much to pack. The bag he had packed for the 'weekend excursion' had been left on the island and he really only had one pair of clothes with him, which he didn't plan on keeping around after he was back in Montana.

"Skeleton's probably in the final excavation stages by now." He thought aloud to himself about the dig they had left behind. Ellie was silent, and continued to pack her bags. _Mistake._ He thought angrily to himself.

"You going to see the kids before we go?" She asked suddenly.

"Er … no that's alright." Alan replied, "They seem to be really taken with Malcolm anyways." Would they even remember him when they had grown up and put this behind them? Alan figured he would avoid any unnecessary upsets for the time being, a choice he would later come to regret.

"Uh-huh. Back to your old self huh." She said, a hint of spirit in her voice.

"Yep." He replied, "Your favourite child-hating, dirt-loving Dr. Grant." She tossed her bag at Alan playfully.

"Dirt loving?" She raised her eyebrows at him.

"Among other things."

She hit him with her bag again, her lips curled into a small smile, before pulling his head into her arms in a hug.

Within the hour, Alan and Ellie, bags in hand, left the hospital. They were greeted by a flurry of photographers and people with microphones, frantically inquiring after them in more than one language. Alan was amazed he was able to find his way to the airport shuttle amidst the blinding flashes of cameras. They were trying to capture the emergence of the first two survivors into the real world once more.

Once in the van, Ellie rested her head on his shoulder and took his hand in hers.

He was still Alan, she was still Ellie, and they were still alive.


	9. Ian IV

A woman of no more than thirty, the feisty Sarah Harding was bold, and at times intimidating. She wasn't afraid to ask Ian exactly what she wanted, which pressured him to answer quickly without putting much thought into the words coming out of his mouth.

"_Mrs. _Malcolm?" Ian had first asked her. He felt a smile creep across his lips. The cunning of her was definitely to be admired. "And is Mrs. Malcolm … a reporter?"

"Not quite. I'm working at the San Diego Zoo while I work on my doctoral dissertation." She laughed, "Paleontological ethnology – it's basically the behavior of extinct animals. Dinosaurs mostly." She added, reaching into her pocket for a package of gum. She offered it to Ian, who hastily declined. "They wouldn't let me in unless I was family, right?"

_San Diego_. Coincedentally the place Ian called home."Right." He confirmed. "Ahh … animal behavior. And I suppose I – I'm the animal here right?"

Sarah looked down at her papers. "Actually I was hoping to talk to you about the animals on the _island_ if you would be alright with that."

Ian sighed and drummed his fingers on his cast. In truth he didn't have much to tell. However, Grant and Sattler had left, Hammond and the kids were on the way out this afternoon – and he was stuck there with his leg in a cast while the bumbling staff of the hospital made arrangements for a flight that could accommodate all of his needs. With that in mind, Ian Malcolm was all Sarah Harding had.

"Dr. Malcolm, I can't tell you how much I would appreciate this." She told him. Her persistence reminded him of his second daughter, Kelly, who was also unafraid to ask Ian for exactly what she wanted – souvenirs from his travels, new toys, ponies. Sarah's gaze pierced him and he couldn't shake his daughter's image from his head.

"You can call me Ian." He said, finally meeting her stare.

It took a little under an hour for Ian to retell the entire story of the island to Sarah. There was a lot to tell, and she would interrupt occasionally and ask questions about every little detail, which much of the time to Ian seemed unimportant. For an additional thirty minutes afterwards, Sarah bombarded him with questions.

"What seemed to stimulate the animals? What elicited the greatest responses?"

"Well, uh gee … certainly the presence of – of people really seemed to get them going." He eyed his leg, almost with contempt, as if a part of the rex that attacked him was in there somewhere.

"Did you notice any similar behavior to any related species?"

"Did I … what?" Ian stopped, "Ms. Harding …

"Sarah, please."

"Yeah – I don't think we're really on the same page here okay?" He said flatly, "Look, these _weren't_ dinosaurs, they were genetically engineered, test-tube creations. Listen, if you were to somehow get on that island, I'm sure you would find that their behavior ah… is certainly quite a bit different from real dinosaurs." He explained. He had spoken earlier with Grant about the same thing. "What's more … don't you think it's a bit uh … _tasteless_ to write your thesis based on a fatal _freak _accident? People were killed there for crying out loud."

Sarah's mouth tightened into a grimace. "When throughout your entire academic life, you've studied something dead, written papers in the hypothetical and conducted purely theoretical discussions; to have this sort of opportunity … you have to jump on it Ian." Ian couldn't say he knew the feeling - math never went out of date. He almost felt sorry for her and could see the rising disappointment in her eyes.

At that moment, a nurse poked her head in and eyed Sarah suspiciously. She said something in rapid Spanish to which Sarah replied equally as quickly. She turned to Ian, "She knows I'm not your wife." She laughed while the nurse shouted down the hallway, undoubtedly for Sarah's removal.

"How about this." She fumbled through her belongings, producing a small notepad from the recesses of her bag. "Here. Write down anything you feel like sharing." She smiled at Ian, touched him gently on the hand, and was gone.

The encounter had stayed with Ian for the rest of the evening. He found himself that night still thinking about it. He pulled the notebook from the bedside table to scribble a few thoughts down.

On the first page he found,

_Sarah Harding, BSc, M.A_

And subsequent information – an address and a phone number. Below it there was a little post-script.

"_Call me when you get back._

_Xoxo Mrs. Malcolm"_

Ian smiled to himself in the dim of his room. He was suddenly restless again, and eager to return home. He made a note to himself in the book:

"Mrs. Malcolm,

Let's have a drink. I'm sure we can hammer out your thesis.

Xoxo Mr. Malcolm

P.S – Have you ever heard of Chaos Theory?


	10. Ellie III

After much debate as to whether they should skip Montana altogether and just return to Washington, Alan and Ellie found themselves in the back of a jeep, driven by a pock-faced intern of the dig site. Alan had wanted to come back to collect his things, and he even spoke of staying to oversee the ends of the project. Ellie saw it as an opportunity for some tranquil solitude and time to "think." The desert was perfect for that.

It was well after dark when they arrived. Their laundry wasn't hanging on the clotheslines as it usually was, but aside from that, the camper looked no different. The teenaged assistant searched frantically in his pockets for the spare key to the trailer as the original was with Ellie's lost possessions.

The room was musty and Ellie threw open the windows immediately. She surveyed the familiar lodgings – everything seemed to be in order. Toaster oven, Alan's models, and the bed was somewhere under a pile of dirty laundry. Alan didn't seem to mind, as he flopped face first down on the rusty box spring. "I hate travelling." She could hear him whining into the week-old clothing.

Eventually they both fell asleep on the evidence pile of their mutual procrastination.

A fact known by all about Alan Grant was that he couldn't stand to be detached from his work for too long. It therefore wasn't surprising to Ellie that he was gone when she woke in the morning. Long fingers of sunlight stretched through the small windows and eventually pushed her out of bed.

On the kitchen counter there was coffee and muffins courtesy of Dr. Alan Grant. She helped herself and began absentmindedly tidying the trailer. It was the sort of activity she had been craving to keep her mind busy. She still found herself jumping at shadows as she washed dishes that had been dirty seemingly for centuries. Any little movement in the corner of her eye had her checking everything in the room for life. She looked harder for further imperfections in the cleanliness of the camper.

Eventually she found one; a champagne cork on the floor.

Ellie eyed the cork warily. It had been Alan's and her plan to celebrate the full excavation of the skeleton (something she didn't even altogether care about anymore) with a bottle of champagne from her mother. But it wasn't their cork anymore … it was Hammond's. The old man had helped himself, knowing his checkbook would make them agree to anything he wanted.

For some reason, she couldn't bring herself to discard it. Instead, she slipped it quietly into her bedside table.

In the afternoon, Ellie finally ventured out of the trailer. The Montana sun and heat was comforting and familiar. She strolled slowly away from the camp, taking care to keep it in sight at all times. She didn't want to incur stares and awkward greetings and questions by her co-workers just yet. The quiet of the desert gave her some time to gather her thoughts anyways.

She thought mostly about Alan, good things and bad things. Her mind was in a million places at once and it was difficult to stay on one feeling. Alan Grant was funny, charming, smart, and especially well read. They could read each other so well, they could discern one another's feelings, and they each enjoyed take-out. She especially admired his dedication to his work in the face of any challenge, and wished she possessed similar attributes.

And yet, despite all these qualities she loved about Alan, there was a persistent knifing in the back of her mind. It was a constant weight she felt on all sides of her head whenever he was around. Ellie couldn't even put it into words herself to Ramirez, and talking it out with herself in the solitude of the desert wasn't working either.

Additionally, Ellie was beginning to find herself more and more wanting something _different_ that she knew Alan wasn't entirely ready for. Alan was committed to his work, and they both knew it all too well. There wasn't room for anything else – at least not the "anything" Ellie was thinking of. Ellie loved her work as well, but she found herself more and more feeling a certain _need_ for something else. She had started writing a book long before they had left for the island, and now felt a stronger desire to finish it than return to digging up fossils. Alan wasn't ready to leave that behind just yet – and she was.

When she returned to the trailer, the soft sound of a musical beat wafted out the open windows. Entering the camper, Van Morrison's _Moondance_ wailed from the player above the fridge. Adjacent to it, Alan, covered head to toe in dust, worked meticulously over the stove, cooking something or another. The table had been neatly set for two. After a minute or two he noticed her watching him. A boyish smile crept across his face and he ushered her into one of the chairs. "Just wait a sec – you'll love this." He said. Not long after, Alan whirled around musically, a plate in either hand and slid it across to her.

_Toast and eggs._

She let out a small laugh.

"There's more." He said, grabbing the wine glasses and dancing to the fridge.

_Diet Coke._

A large smile crept across her face, unbidden.

Ellie wasn't particularly hungry seeing as her stomach was in knots. She ate as much as she could and sipped the soda gingerly, at times feigning the action.

"How'd it go today?" She asked him.

"They're done excavating – just waiting on the chemical tests now."

There was small silence as Alan drained his glass.

"Your sure you don't want to examine the teeth for evidence of a particular diet?" He asked. She shuddered internally – what had once been her favourite thing now gave her chills. She shook her head, hiding her face in her glass.

"Alan – I'm gonna go back to Washington for a while."

"Okay."

"Maybe start writing that book, audit a class or two."

"Sounds great."

"And I was thinking, …" She paused, "… of going by myself."

Alan looked genuinely confused.

"I think I just need … some time to sort things out. Figure out where I want … my career to go, and just … think basically. I think we both … need a break."

It was a miracle that the words had finally left her mouth coherently. Alan smiled back at her, but then got up, taking the plates with him. She stared hopelessly at his back as he washed the dishes. "Just for little while." He asked, not really as a question but more of a statement.

Ellie heaved a sigh, "Maybe."

Alan stood at the sink for a long time with the water running, and after a while, Ellie couldn't look at his back anymore. She paced back and forth just out of sight of Alan. Eventually, she just crawled into bed and curled up into a tight ball, feelings of dread, guilt, and shame completely overwhelming her. She eventually fell asleep to the sound of tap water.

The water from the sink eventually stopped running, and a small scraping noise took over. At first she thought she was hearing things again – sounds coming back to haunt her. Peeking over the blankets, she saw Alan sitting hunched over the work desk. Glancing at the clock, a lot more time had passed than she had realized – several hours in fact. She tiptoed behind Alan, and over his shoulder she could see the _maisaurus _specimen he had been so enamoured with. Ellie made herself sit down across the table from him.

They didn't speak for a while, they didn't even make eye contact. Ellie just watched him piece together the bones, intricately spreading industrial glue along the edges and bringing two edges together. _That was a mistake_ she thought, as Alan put together two pieces of the spinal column. "Honey – those two pieces are different." She said before she could stop herself. Alan leaned back in his chair, broadening his view of the bones, looking for the mistake.

"Hm." He conceded finally. "You're right. Good one."

It made Ellie smile. She had missed this – just the two of them working late into the night on the stupid skeleton. They didn't necessarily have to be talking, just working on a common goal was enough. Ellie took his hand.

"You'll always be the best you know." Ellie told him. Alan looked at her, almost hopelessly. "Really." She added. Alan finally smiled, albeit weakly.

Six days later, her bags were packed. She stood just outside the camper, waiting for the same pock-faced intern to drive her to the airport. Alan waited with her in the beating Montana sun. They each thought their own thoughts, the wind whipping dust around them wildly.

In the distance, Ellie spotted the rickety beat-up Dodge Dart that Trevor in intern drove timidly around the dig site. She stood quickly and put her arms around Alan's neck. "I'll call you when I get there okay?"

"If … you need help with your book you know … all you have to do is call." He replied, taking her bags from her. She nodded, pulling open the car door. Her feet felt incredibly heavy, and her head was light. Ellie kissed him on the cheek, giving him a pat as well.

The car pulled away from the camper and Ellie watched Alan Grant out of the back window until he was just a speck standing in the middle of the desert.


	11. Alan IV

Alan had stood, his feet sweltering in his thick shoes and socks, watching the shadows grow longer and longer as the day passed. He had watched the car whisk Ellie away from him, for what he was beginning to think would be a longer time than he originally posited. He stood until the world was completely dark and still. He liked how the desert turned black, with nothing but the stars and the moon to look at. No clouds in the sky made for marvelous celestial viewings. Alan had often thought, had he not become a paleontologist, he would have become an astronomer.

The trailer seemed so empty without Ellie. In a way, she was what made it home for him. It was when they had sat together so many nights ago fawning over the vertebrae on the table that he felt things were on the mend – life was regaining its normalcy. Slowly. The specimen was reconstructed now, but everything else lay in pieces around him.

The raptor skeleton they had been excavating the past few weeks was undoubtedly on a plane to the Smithsonian at that moment. Hardly a groundbreaking find, but the museum had snatched it up for a pretty penny absurdly fast. Nevertheless, every skeleton to Alan felt like an overwhelming triumph.

The loneliness he felt without Ellie was, at times, overwhelming. It was akin to having his dominant hand amputated – everything was awkward, clumsy and random. Despite his longing to be with her again, the deeply rooted sense of right and wrong told him it was for the best – although it certainly didn't seem like it. She wanted something he wasn't ready to give just yet.

And she had told him about her dreams as well – the raptors. About him and how when she looked at him, things got worse. It was difficult to comprehend; when he looked at her, things got better.

To top off the list of unexpected things that had happened to him since leaving Costa Rica, a newfound interest in the behavior of _Velociraptor mongoliensis _was certainly the most startling. He had poured over the sounds they had made, the movements they had exhibited over and over again. He had written them down on just about whatever legible writing surface there was to be had. He knew this would have been unbearable for Ellie, yet unbearable to him as well if he could not pursue it. There was something to be said about the curiosity of Alan Grant – insatiable unless whetted.

And he began to agree with Ellie. It was for the best. They were two different people, with different goals; different agendas.

_Life finds a way_.

Ian Malcolm was a prick. Half the scientific community knew it. But he was right. Life found ways to continue, despite catastrophic circumstances. Ian would continue being a prick, Ellie would move on to overcome new challenges, and Alan would stay in the dirt and in the mud, digging up long dead bones, and putting them back together again.

Everything else was all memories now - before the island, on the island, and the hospital in Costa Rica.

* * *

That's all I got! I'm very sorry it kind of petered out very quickly at the end, but I hope you enjoyed reading it because I enjoyed writing it. Thank you for the very positive feedback I've received, and I'll try to keep on practicing with your suggestions you've given me.


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